Chamomile
by Imitating Licentiousness
Summary: Written for the sgaoneweetlove 14 Days challenge. Prompt was late night chance meeting.


Title: Chamomile

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Up to Tracker.

Rating: PG

* * *

Long days were a common occurrence for Jennifer. Thirty-hour shifts, combined with her tendency to stay with her patients until forced out of the medical bay by Woolsey or John or the team, meant long periods of time without sleep.

So, when the time came for an endless shift to wrap up, patients were resting comfortable and out of danger, Jennifer found herself with a ten-hour window promising a slumber deeper than Sleeping Beauty's hundred-year nap.

And there Jennifer was, entering her quarters, the weight behind her eyes so great she was surprised she was still functioning.

"This must be what a zombie feels like," she thought aloud , and she was so exhausted that the thought was, for some reason, extremely hilarious, and then Jennifer was giggling to an empty room.

_I should just go straight to bed_, she knew, and she told herself this, but her hair felt greasy, skin filmy, and she knew she smelled vaguely of rubbing alcohol. The shower beckoned. Jennifer caved.

After her shower, she changed into a pair of clean, soft cotton pajama pants and a black tank. She leaned over and fell onto the bed, rolled over to her pillow, and closed her eyes.

Nothing happened.

She opened on eye and took a look at the clock. 12:10 am. Jennifer shut her eye again. She lie very still and tried to concentrate on her breathing. Sleep refused to come. Jennifer changed positions, moving onto her side. She counted sheep. She moved the pillow from one end of the bed to the other. It was too hot. She was too cool. She looked at the clock again. 12:52 am.

1:08.

1:14. Jennifer could hear the second hand of the clock, and cursed herself for not bringing a digital.

1:22. She turned on her fan, hoping the white noise would help lull her to sleep.

1:34. Frustrated, she threw her legs over the side of the bed. Obviously the desperately needed sleep was not going to come. She was simply too tired to sleep.

Jennifer thought for a moment about running down to the infirmary and grabbing some Benedryl, something, anything, to make her drowsy enough to lapse into unconsciousness. But, if she did, she might wake up more tired and groggy than she would have been had she simply just fallen asleep on her own.

When she was a child and couldn't sleep, her father used to make her a cup of hot chamomile tea with a little milk and honey, and then she would drift away on a wave of lethargy. Before Jennifer knew it, her feet were striding across the floor, out the door, and headed to the mess hall.

* * *

Ronon sat comfortably on the side of the large sofa in the common room, long legs stretched out in front of him. Rodney sat next to him, and John sat on the other end, arms above his head as they watched the zombies on the television in front of them gorge themselves most enthusiastically on human flesh.

Rodney cringed. John seemed nonplussed, having seen Resident Evil multiple times, and Ronon listened to the dialogue:

"…As these creatures only fulfill the most basic of needs…the need to feed."

Ronon's stomach grumbled. "I'm hungry. You guys want anything?"

"A beer," John requested.

"Snickers," Rodney answered. Their eyes never left the television.

Ronon hauled himself up off the couch, carefully stepped over his friends' feet, which were propped up against the coffee table, and headed out the door to the right.

* * *

The mess hall wasn't open 24/7. There were designated hours for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. However, adjoined to the mess, there was a kitchen-like area with a pantry attached like a lean-to where military and base personnel were welcome to go get a snack.

So it was a pleasant surprise to go in and see Jennifer's back towards him. She was sitting on a large metal counter, facing the commercial stove in front of her, watching a pot.

Ronon was delighted. Here was a real chance to use one of those common statements from earth John was always talking about! What was it John always called them? It started with a P. Pro…proverb? And the one about the pot…

"You know, a watched pot never boils," he said. Was that right? It _had _to be.

Startled, Jennifer whirled around, nearly falling off her perch. She relaxed when she saw him. "Ronon! Oh, you scared me!"

He looked sheepish. It was a habit. He just wasn't a naturally loud person. "Sorry." Ronon gestured to her pot. "What're you making?"

"Just boiling some water for tea." Jennifer was suddenly aware that she was dressed only in her pajamas. She crossed her arms over her chest. "So, uh, what are you getting? Midnight snack?"

"Yeah." Ronon leaned against the counter. He surveyed her. Jennifer's hair was slightly damp and very disarrayed, pulled up into a loose knot of her ponytail looped in on itself. Dark circles were under her eyes, and her face was pale. "You should be in bed. You look tired, Doc."

"Yeah," she agreed, rubbing one eye. "You know how it feels, when you're too tired to sleep, and you can just feel it behind your eyeballs, but your brain just won't shut down…" Her hand went out, searching for the right words.

Ronon remembered those horrible days of being a runner, of longing for rest but only able to catch sleep precious few hours at a time. "Yeah, I know what that feels like."

"I thought maybe drinking some tea would relax me enough to just drift off for awhile."

"That's a good idea."

They stared at the pot for a few moments. John's proverb was true; there was no single strand of steam rising from the surface of the water, not one bubble.

Ronon was trying not to stare at her out of the corner of his eye as he stood next to her. His brief, but gentlemanly conversation with Rodney was echoing in his head. Intentions…but Rodney was making it out as though it were some strange mating competition. It was not so simple. He did not want to 'win' her…he simply wanted. To talk to her, to know her, to touch her…

And there she stood, so fatigued and yet unable to fall asleep.

"Hey, uh, while you're waiting, um, you want some company? Let's go sit over there. John's right. This water may never boil if we keep an eye on it."

Jennifer smiled. "I'd love some company."

Ronon pulled the metal seat away from the counter for her, then sat down next to her. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, gosh…" Jennifer put her hands over her face, then rubbed her eyes. "I'm not trying to make it sound like I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders. We're all having to deal with serious stuff out here. I'm just…I'm so tired. And there's so much going on. The wraith, and my patients, and the patients off-world. There's so many people who need help, who we don't have enough time to get to and show them the care they need. And I miss my Dad, and then there's yo--" Jennifer abruptly cut herself off, and flushed.

"And then there's what?" Ronon repeated.

"Nothing."

He wasn't about to force her into that conversation. It could come later. A few awkward moments passed, but Ronon let them dissipate. He smiled warmly at her. "It's okay to feel stressed, you know. You're not a bad person for wanting to vent every now and then."

"I know, it's just…I'm a healer. It's part of the healing process to be positive, to show my patients just how much thinking that way can do for them…and then it turns out I'm this big hypocrite."

"No, no, you're not," Ronon reassured her. "I've seen you. You always try to make the best out of a bad situation. Just like you are now. That's not hypocrisy. It's being human. It's human to be tired. You can't be expected to run nonstop, and no one's expecting that of you, and you shouldn't expect that of yourself."

Jennifer's eyes met his, and she gave him a sleepy smile. "You know, you're pretty smart when you actually talk." Inside her head, she considered his words. _I've seen you_. He'd been _watching_ her. There was a tiny trill of excitement somewhere in the back of her brain.

He shrugged nonchalantly, and then pointed his index finger at the saucepan on the range. "Water's boiling."

Jennifer walked over, plunked her teabag into a Styrofoam cup, and filled it with the steaming liquid. The tranquil smell of chamomile wafted up to her nose, and she smiled to herself. Ronon watched as she poured milk into the cup, then a spoonful of honey.

"What kind of tea is that?" he asked.

"Chamomile," Jennifer replied. "My dad always used to make it for me when I couldn't sleep."

"Chamomile," Ronon repeated. It was a euphonious word, the way it rolled off the tongue. He decided that he liked it.

"You want a taste?" Jennifer held her cup out to him.

Ronon raised it to his lips.

"Careful! It's hot."

He blew on it gently before taking a sip. It was good, sweet, but not too sweet, and fresh, and clean. "It's delicious." He handed the cup back to her.

She smiled at him. "I'm glad you like it."

"Listen, I was just coming to get a snack for me and the guys…let me go drop off their stuff, and then why don't we walk around? It's a nice night. Might help you relax enough to sleep."

Jennifer nodded. "I'd like that."

* * *

Dropping off a beer and a Snickers took a grand total of forty-eight seconds, and then seven minutes later, Ronon and Jennifer were sitting on one of the highest tiers in Atlantis, leaning against the stone wall and letting the wind blow on their bare toes. Ronon sat, one leg folded under him, one leg out, and Jennifer sat next to him, almost touching, with her knees drawn to her chest, holding her tea close to her nose so she could enjoy the aroma.

"Nice night," Ronon remarked, and it was. The sky was clear, no moon tonight, allowing all the alien stars to show their full glory, layer after layer of stars and the depths of space.

"It's so beautiful," Jennifer said. "I sometimes wonder what the constellations are here, the stories behind them."

"Someday I'll tell you," Ronon said. "When I was young, my mother used to tell them to me. Great stories, of war, and hunters, and love."

"Sounds like the Greek myths," Jennifer said brightly. "Maybe Plato took the best stories and told them to our world. There's so many stories. The birth of the world, and time, and the Pantheon of the Gods, and Athena…"

She saw Ronon's puzzled glance, and explained: "The Greeks, a very early civilization on Earth, came up with all these myths and stories to explain things. Like Apollo, the sun god, riding across the sky, and the sun is just a wheel of his fiery chariot. And Artemis, his sister, the goddess of the hunt, and the moon. Or Orpheus and his harp."

"Tell me about that one."

"What, Orpheus and the harp?"

"Yeah."

"Um, okay…" Jennifer looked upwards, trying to remember it all. "There was a young man, Orpheus, who some say that Apollo himself taught how to use his lyre, because his mother was a muse, Calliope. And Orpheus was very, very good at it, and one day he was playing his lyre in the woods, and one of the Dryads, this sort of fairy-nymph thing, told him that she wouldn't care to do anything more in the world than marry him and follow him the rest of her days, just listening him play his harp and sing. Her name was Eurydice, and Orpheus married her."

Jennifer let out a giant yawn.

"There was a goddess—can't remember what her name was—who was jealous of Eurydice, so she transformed herself into a snake, and one day, when Eurydice was out playing, the snake bit her and she died. And when Orpheus found her, he was so upset that he went down into the Underworld, and played for the god of the Underworld, Hades, and his wife, Persephone, to let him bring her back to life. Persephone was so touched by his playing that she begged Hades to let Eurydice go, and Hades agreed to it, as long as Orpheus didn't turn and look at her the whole way out of the Underworld. And so when Orpheus finally got back to our world, he turned around just once to help Eurydice out, and she faded away because he looked at her. And Orpheus was so sad that he faded away." She yawned again.

"That's sad."

"Yeah. A lot of them are sad. But a lot of them are happy, too." Jennifer felt that heavy feeling start behind her eyes again. She leaned more into him, drowsy. "There's so many secrets here, Ronon. So much to learn. I worry I won't have time to see it all."

"You'll have time. I promise."

But Jennifer never heard his promise. Her head lolled onto his shoulder, and she was asleep.

* * *

John said nothing, and did not wake Rodney when Ronon came down the hall, cradling Jennifer in his arms. The poor woman was dead to the world, cuddled up to Ronon's chest. Ronon nodded at John, and John nodded back, an unspoken agreement between the two men. No one needed to know about this, especially not Rodney. The next few months were sure to be difficult, with Rodney trying to win Jennifer's affections. John was almost dreading it, because he treasured Rodney's friendship and did not want to see his friend get hurt. But Rodney would land back on his feet no matter what occurred. Jennifer could save Ronon, drive away the demons, the loneliness, the utter despair at having lost not only a home but a planet. And, in the end, Ronon could save her just as easily.

Ronon balanced Jennifer in his arms while opening her door. He used his foot to nudge the covers on her bed back before depositing Jennifer gently beneath the cool sheets. She did not stir. Ronon stood back up, looking down at her, at her lovely, tired face, the way that when she slept, her countenance did not hold the anxiety and pressure it did when she was awake. Much as he would like to stand there and watch her, he did not think Jennifer would appreciate it if she were awake, and he forced himself to leave.

There would be time for talking later.


End file.
